


Ragged Dolls & Tarnished Silver

by ckret2



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Arora-chichou | Alola, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluffy Ending, Gen, Pokemon Battle, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 12:33:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18010988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckret2/pseuds/ckret2
Summary: Mimikyu's desperation to be loved is only matched by its certainty that no trainer will ever love it. Which is why it's certain that a mistake must have been made—probably a Pikachu-related mistake—when a young trainer skulking through the Thrifty Megamart starts throwing Poké Balls at it.





	Ragged Dolls & Tarnished Silver

**Author's Note:**

> So guess who spent all Saturday trying to catch a dang Mimikyu. 
> 
> This is probably the cutest ghost story I'll ever write.

The human had finished her trial hours ago. But she was still here.

Oh, yes, the ghosts of Thrifty Megamart knew about the trials, and permitted them, even though they were irked by them. Many of them, especially the clan of Gastly (a mess of Gastly that kept to themselves, and the Haunters and few Gengar that guarded them) were fascinated to see the young humans passing through—as long as their visits were infrequent and their stays were brief.

Mimikyu wasn't quite as keen on the human visitors. The terrified trialgoers passing through stirred its loneliness up, transformed it from a dull, throbbing longing into a sharp, raging WANT WANT WANT. It was easier to handle when the humans weren't around. At least their visits were short.

But this one's stay should have been long over. Why wasn't it?

During her trial, the Gastly clan had done their level best to spook her, she'd snapped her pictures of them, the totem had permitted her entrance into the Pikachu shrine, and she'd taken the totem down with far too much ease—Mimikyu hadn't seen, but it had overheard a Gengar and Haunter discussing it. They were rattled by her, for some reason. What could rattle a Gengar? Mimikyu usually stayed inside the freezers when the humans came, but this time it had gone outside to see her off, braving the sunlight to spare the Gastly and Zubat clans, staying hidden behind the fence, to make sure this mysterious nerve-wracking trialgoer was really leaving. And she _had_  left—but in almost no time a Golbat had sounded out the hypersonic warning: she was back at the entrance, pushing open the dirty glass doors once more, trying to come in.

Why? 

Mimikyu hid in the freezers again.

She stirred up the ghosts and detritus, rattling carts like they were chains, lifting boxes and dolls like she was a poltergeist. She haunted the old store from the front to the back, as though she were a lost soul who had died there. The Pokémon were spooked by this specter invading their shadows. Why? Why?

One Gastly reported to a Haunter that she kept coming back to the wall where the Pikachu shrine was hidden; maybe, they speculated, she was trying to get back into it? Mimikyu listened in on their conversation. Oh, those postcards, posters, and glossy photos, lovingly torn from wrinkled magazines and collected from the postcard racks and hauled in from the rubbish outside and drawn on the back of abandoned greeting cards with abandoned crayons, such a beautiful collection to honor the most beloved of all Pokémon—if that room was what she was after, Mimikyu didn't blame her. The shrine made Mimikyu ache with with rapturous envy every time it looked at those pictures—to _be_ that Pokémon, happy and beloved! Just for five minutes! Just for _one_! What did a human long for when it saw those pictures? To be one of the happy humans cuddling a Pikachu?

Well, she wasn't getting back into the shrine. Her trial was over. If she liked the Pikachu pictures that much, there was a chance she'd try to take them, and that wouldn't do. If what she wanted was a Pikachu, she could go to Melemele Island and catch her own.

She could leave Mimikyu alone to fantasize about being a Pikachu.

Mimikyu's nest was a collection of branches in one of the empty freezers, in the back right corner from the front door. The branches weren't to make the nest itself, but to form a brambly barricade it could hide under. There was just enough room for it to slip inside without tearing its disguise. Access to those freezers was blocked by an old display table with a few Pokémon dolls left behind. Mimikyu didn't expect the human to come anywhere near its hiding place.

And so it started so hard that it nearly shook its nest when, through the branches, it saw the human looking toward it.

No, she wasn't looking at Mimikyu—she was just turned in its direction, while she looked at the dolls on the table, smiling. Mimikyu had briefly glimpsed her outside after her trial, but now it got its first good look at her: she had skin and hair the color of tarnished silver, ashen gray eyes and clothes. Her hair and shirt draped limply over her like sheets over furniture. She was definitely a child; Mimikyu was sure it knew a child when it saw one—children had the same proportions, the same eyes as Phantumps—but something in her posture, in her gaze, wasn't childlike.

She picked up the Pikachu doll on the table, inspecting it; Mimikyu's soul sank. She _did_  love Pikachu. (And why shouldn't she? Everyone loved Pikachu.) So that really was why she was here. She wanted to see the shrine again. Or else maybe she hadn't realized that the totem, master of illusion that she was, had been the Pikachu luring her to the back, and still thought there was a real one she could catch.

She turned the doll over, inspecting the bottom, and held it back up. It was a lovely doll. Mimikyu had made its own disguise by tearing open the bottom of a similar doll and ripping out the stuffing. Its disguise was thin and threadbare by now, almost all of the soft fuzz worn off and the ears droopy, the button eyes and felt cheeks fallen off so Mimikyu had to draw them back on with crayon. The stuffing it had torn out was still spread around the display table, gently rotting.

Still smiling, the human put the Pikachu doll back and moved on. Mimikyu sagged in relief and grief. Alone again. Still alone.

Still the human kept circling the store, crawling over boxes, peering under fallen shelves. A few of the Gastly clan tried to frighten her off; her Pokémon drove them back every time, and she kept exploring. A Haunter came by and talked proudly of posing for a picture; she had one of those Pokédexes specially designed for a Rotom to nestle cozily inside. Mimikyu knew about Rotom; some used to live here, in the cash registers and ice cream freezers, until the store's backup generator died and they couldn't get any more power out of it. Haunter said that the Rotom was more afraid than the human. The human wasn't afraid at all. Maybe she'd leave, they all wondered, after she got some good pictures?

She didn't.

Mimikyu was getting tired of hiding. It asked a Klefki nuzzled into the hinges of the broken freezer if he could tell it where the human was now. He reported that she was by the cash registers, rummaging underneath one—there was some delicious spare change to be had in that area, Klefki claimed. Mimikyu couldn't make it all the way to the magazines if she was near the cash registers, but it could get as far as the crayons. That would keep it entertained until she got bored and left.

So, quietly, keeping its head down and its club pulled half underneath its disguise, it crawled out from its nest of branches, pushed the freezer door open a sliver, and scuttled out.

With a sixteen pack of crayons safely ensconced under its disguise, it tried to rip off one of the flaps of an overturned box. It was going to draw itself, today. Itself, with a trainer. This wasn't going to be a picture worth saving—not like drawings of Pikachu that got saved in the shrine—but it was going to be nice to draw. The human wandering through the store had reawakened that old longing to have a trainer, to be wanted, and illustrating its fantasies wouldn't make the love hunger go away, but it would make it easier to deal with. In its drawing, its imaginary trainer was going to be hugging it—big red hearts everywhere, of course—and they were going to be inside a Pokémon Center, a real Pokémon Center, with trainers from all over and a wall of honey—Mimikyu had been told Pokémon Centers were filled with honey—

The first Mimikyu knew the human was approaching was when it heard the metalliplastic twang of a Poké Ball opening. It spun around, backing up against some shelving and accidentally knocking a couple of expired chip bags down.

There was a barrier of toppled shelving and boxes between Mimikyu and the human, who was smiling at the sight of Mimikyu, but a massive floating balloon of a Pokémon loomed high over the barrier. It had never seen this Pokémon before, but it had heard a more worldly Haunter discussing it an hour ago: a Drifblim. As Mimikyu watched, the human got a running start, made a flying leap with her arms outstretched, caught Drifblim's hands, and swung over the barrier. She descended upon Mimikyu like the wrath of a Tapu.

Mimikyu dodged away from her, zipping back toward its hiding place.

"Thunder wave!"

Its club caught the bolt like a lightning rod. Static pulled its disguise tight and prickly around its hidden self, making the miasma underneath thick with charge, and it could barely move. It knew what she was doing. Warnings of this trainer's favored strategy for quickly dispatching challengers had made the rounds in the Gastly clan, and Mimikyu had overheard the warning: first she paralyzes you so you can't call for backup, then she hexes you. You're dropped in one hit. Mimikyu turned and tilted its false head pleadingly, turning on the charm, begging the Drifblim to take pity. Drifblim's gaze softened—but she didn't hesitate when her trainer cried, "Now gust! Gently!"

The blast of wind smelled like old souls. Mimikyu felt the stick holding up its false head creak and snap under the force of the wind. It huddled down against the cracked tile floor to keep its disguise from being blown all the way off. Not a hex? Why?

Mimikyu didn't want to attack the Drifblim directly; it looked like a giant balloon, and Mimikyu knew how those popped. It knew how awful it was for the thin, ragged layer of fabric that holds your soul in to be ripped. It mimicked gust and blew back Drifblim—please, stay back—but the trainer called again, "Gust, but be careful!"

Tiles scraped under Mimikyu's shadowy claws as it was blown back. Why "gently," why "be careful"? She'd struck down every other challenger effortlessly, even the totem. Why the caution _now—?_

It must have tricked her. The way she'd picked up that Pikachu doll— _that_  was what she wanted. She'd seen Mimikyu from across the store, mistaken it in the darkness for the Pikachu she'd spent the last few hours seeking, and chased after it. But its disguise was busted now—was she too focused on the fight to realize what she was looking—

A Poké Ball bounced in front of Mimikyu, and it saw the ball only long enough to recognize that it didn't recognize the type, shiny black and red and trimmed with gold, before it was sucked inside. It had a moment of deep, deep comfort, of coziness—the Poké Ball felt like being hugged tight.

It burst free. It didn't want to trick the human. Eventually, she was going to have to let Mimikyu out in the light of day, and then she'd see her mistake and be devastated—and Mimikyu would be even more devastated, to be turned out and sent packing back to its brambly nest in the Tapu-condemned, dilapidated Thrifty Megamart. It would save them both the heartache. It would not be caught.

It darted a claw through the shadows and lashed out at Drifblim as fast as it could with paralysis weighing it down, leaving scratches of weakened fabric along its thick ripstop nylon skin. If Drifblim popped, the human would have to run to a Pokémon Center and Mimikyu could escape.

Another Poké Ball—and again, it felt heartbreakingly tender, like a trainer's love should feel, and Mimikyu wanted to sink into it. It burst out again, and struck once again at Drifblim. Drifblim hissed, like a body exhaling an unending last breath, as vaporous spirits started to leak out of thin gashes across its face.

The third Poké Ball wasn't cozy. It was as dark as the sky on a moonless night, as dark as the deepest depths of a cave, as dark as the shadows underneath Mimikyu's disguise. The darkness was comforting. The darkness was _strong_. Mimikyu had to struggle to hold on to its determination to escape— _she'll be so disappointed if she finds out_ —and only barely managed to burst out of the ball.

Why was she still trying?! Was it Mimikyu's fault, for sticking to the shadows to attack? Did she still not know what it was, despite its broken neck, despite the way it lurked in darkness? How could it show her that it wasn't what she wanted?! It didn't bother keeping to the shadows this time—let her see what it was! It dodged to one side, disguise flapping like a ragdoll flag to distract Drifblim's attention—no one could possibly mistake it for a Pikachu now—and stretched a long, shadowy claw outside of the Drifblim's peripheral vision to rake across its damaged skin.

The rip spread around its face. Bluk Berry-purple gaseous spirits spilled out in a squealing explosion. Mimikyu was knocked back, crashing into a pile of boxes and landing in a crumpled heap on the floor.

There was a flash of light as the human pulled her Drifblim back into the Poké Ball, sucking its leaking spirits inside before they could drift into the high ceiling and dissipate.

Mimikyu felt itself leaking out of a gash in its disguise's neck—the same Bluk Berry smoke, it knew. It hurt. It was achy all over and could barely move, and it didn't know how it was going to repair its disguise—but she could see now, right? She could see it was nothing but a ghost in a rag. She had to go back to the Pokémon Center—

She sent out a massive bird, all tan and white feathers with a leafy cowl. "Just keep it from escaping!"

Mimikyu stared at it in disbelief. Why?

The fourth Poké Ball was like the first two: black red and gold; soothing and loving. It struggled free just as quickly as it had the first two times, and lashed out at the bird from the shadows. It was exhausted, teetering on the brink of collapse. The fifth Poké Ball, it got a glimpse of before it opened: black and green like the shadows on a forest floor, a glowing red band so you could find it without light. Once more it sucked Mimikyu into the darkness.

This time, Mimikyu let the darkness keep it.

* * *

Returning from the Poké Ball to reality was disorienting. It felt like falling, like tumbling head-over-hems off a cliff. Before it had even reoriented itself, it was already thinking, this was it, she was _finally_  going to figure out it wasn't a Pikachu—she was going to scream—she was going to send it away, and it would have to limp achy and staticky back home...

It was startled to realize it recognized its surroundings. They hadn't even left the Megamart yet. She must have realized her mistake immediately and was ready to let it go. It could hear the Rotom cheerfully explaining through the Pokédex's speakers what Mimikyu was, talking about the practices by which its kind mended their disguises. Maybe Rotom had been the one to tell her. 

She was smiling at Mimikyu.

"Hello." She knelt in front of it, rummaging into her bag; it shrank back, but she whispered, "Shhh, it's okay." She took out a small Pokémon grooming kit—Mimikyu had seen ones like it in one of the boxes, albeit more old-fashioned—opened it, and took out a small cotton ball on a stick. "Hold still." Despite her instruction, it started when she reached out and brushed it with the cotton ball. She reached out to lay a hand gently on its head—not the decoy head, its _real_  head—and held it in place while she rubbed the cotton ball over its disguise. It was petrified. It could feel her hand through the threadbare doll fabric, cool and solid and soft.

As the cotton ball rolled over its disguise, it picked up the static making the fabric cling to Mimikyu. It sighed in relief when the disguise finally let go of its electrical death grip, and the miasma underneath flowed freely again. Now that it was loosened up, its box of crayons dropped out from under its disguise. It had forgotten it was holding that.

"Do you want me to hold that for you?"

It hesitated, some part of it worried that she was still going to leave without Mimikyu _and_  take its crayons with her; but it had felt her caress it. It wanted to hope. It nodded.

She returned the cotton ball to the kit, placed the kit and the box of crayons in her bag, and fished out several more items: three large, ripe beans that, in the dull light, seemed to glimmer like an oil slick with every known hue; and a can of what it could identify as lemonade, although it had never seen a full, unopened can before. She popped open the tab for Mimikyu, held out the beans, and said, "I'm going to take care of the rest of my team, okay? And you can meet them."

Mimikyu shyly reached out to take the beans. She didn't flinch away, even when its ghostly claw dragged across her palm. It nibbled on the beans as, one by one, she introduced her Pokémon.

"This is Rotom Dex." She gestured at the Pokédex clinging to her back and peeking over a shoulder.

It waved. "Hello!" Mimikyu waved back.

She released the large bird first. "This is Decidueye. He was my first Pokémon." She gave him a bean, an open bottle of water, and a scritch under its chin. "You've met him." Decidueye nodded sharply, formally. Mimikyu nodded back, and its broken neck lolled.

She held a spray medicine to the button of another Poké Ball, squirted it in, and only then released the Pokémon. "This is Drifblim. I hope you two can get along now." Drifblim tilted forward in a gracious bow to Mimikyu. Mimikyu made a quiet apologetic churr.

"I'm going to have to patch her up, but you can get to know the others." She held up two more Poké Balls. "These girls are Sableye—" she sent out a purple doll with gems where its button eyes should be, "—and Marowak." A Pokémon Mimikyu _did_  recognize from magazine spreads. "Everyone, this is Mimikyu."

Everyone chirped and growled their greetings. Sableye gave Mimikyu a broad, toothy grin that nearly split its head in half. Mimikyu could barely hiss a return greeting. This was really happening? It really had a trainer? A trainer who was keeping it—a trainer who was introducing it to her other Pokémon, healing it by hand, feeding it treats?

It looked at the human— _its new trainer_ —but her attention was on Drifblim. Whatever medicine she'd sprayed in her Poké Ball had patched her tears back together, but only thinly, with translucent-looking glue; Drifblim was still looking oddly deflated. Mimikyu watched as she sprayed another medicine in careful stripes over Drifblim's wounds, and then—to Mimikyu's shock—pulled out a needle and thread from her bag and started sewing the gashes back together herself.

The first thing Mimikyu noticed was the color of the thread—dark yellowy-brown-gray, the same tarnished silver color as its trainer's own hair.

The second thing it noticed was that most of her team was covered with her stitches—faint tarnished silver threads still shone in old wounds that had long knitted back together across Drifblim's hide, similar stitches mixed into Sableye's threads, and some even held together the leaves in Decidueye's foliage cowl. 

The third thing it noticed, with a start, was that half her team wore disguises. Drifblim in a big taut balloon of a disguise, Sableye walking around inside a doll's skin, and Mimikyu itself, wearing a doll whose stuffing it had personally torn out. Even Rotom, in a way, was in a hard plastic doll.

It looked at the three of them—and then at Decidueye and Marowak, and asked all five, in a rattly whisper, " _Ghossst...?_ "

Drifblim hummed in confirmation and Sableye just smiled again, eyes glowing. Marowak held out her club so Mimikyu could inspect the ghostly flames glowing at either end. Decidueye drew an arrow out of nothing, glowing Bluk Berry purple. Rotom confirmed cheerily, "Lapu's entire team is made of Ghost-type Pokémon! We're all one big happy spectral family."

"We're all ghosts," Mimikyu's trainer—Lapu—added. Mimikyu started in surprise, looking at her again. We? We?

It had barely noticed. How her clothes were ashy, lifeless gray, as though they were covered in a layer of dust, or had been left out to fade in the sunlight for a century. It hadn't noticed how she hadn't stopped smiling once in all the times it had looked at her—like she, too, was a doll, an old doll made out of silver with only one expression.

At Mimikyu's searching gaze, she nodded; and it rushed up to her, wrapping its arms around her ankle, little soul overflowing with love and relief and lack-of-loneliness, whatever the word for that might be. She wanted it. She wanted it, not because of its disguise, but because of what it really was underneath the fabric and crayon smile.

Lapu knelt down. "Your turn." She gently pried its hands off of her, whispered, "You're so cute"—looking not at the disguise, but at its thin, phantasmal hands resting in her palms—and pulled out her needle and thread. "I'm going to fix up your costume, okay?"

It nodded, and shuffled back a step to give her room to work.

Mimikyu's adoring gaze didn't leave Lapu’s face for a second as she stitched her tarnished silver thread into its faded yellow disguise.

**Author's Note:**

> Also available on [tumblr](http://ckret2.tumblr.com/post/183247315907/ragged-dolls-tarnished-silver).


End file.
